


Lessons of Another Kind

by ClaudiaRain



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate universe or alternate Earth? You decide, But they're the same ages as in the show, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Professor Caitlin Snow, Romance, Snowellsweek2017, Student Harrison Wells, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-05 19:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11584764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaudiaRain/pseuds/ClaudiaRain
Summary: When Dr. Caitlin Snow initially clashes with her new student, Harrison Wells, she's sure she'll be in for a long semester...what she doesn't know is that his decision to audit her class will change the course of both their lives.Prompt fill for Snowells Week 2017.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never participated in anything like this, but when crazygirlne alerted me to Snowells Week and the various prompts, I really wanted to do one. In an effort not to rehash anything I've done for this pairing before, our conversations led me to the teacher/student prompt, and I followed that inspiration.
> 
> The pairing/character tag specifies "Earth-2 Harrison Wells" solely because he's the version of Harrison Wells I'm imagining here, but we're firmly in an alternate "normal" universe (or perhaps an alternate Earth!) for this story.

It starts with a lecture.

Or maybe it starts with the _end_ of a lecture, to be more precise.

Caitlin has pretty mixed feelings at the beginning of each university semester – on one hand, she delights in a new term, new classes, and new students (most of whom are eager to learn). On the other hand, there’s a certain monotony during the first classes, and while that can be comforting (at times) it can also come across as dull, if she’s not careful. She tries to teach a variety of courses each year, so that boredom can never fully sink in; one of her greatest fears is becoming the sort of weary, uninspired professor that students instinctively avoid. The ‘dragging it out until retirement’ type that she’s come across far too often in her academic career – both as a student and as a teacher.

As such, she tries especially hard to ramp up her energy levels the first week. Sometimes, though, when she’s going over a syllabus for a class she’s already taught a half-dozen times before, she worries she’s coming across as the exact opposite kind of professor than the one she strives to be.

First days are always the hardest, in any case, and she uses that as an excuse to brush aside her worry; it’s the end of her first Medical Ethics class of the semester, and the smiles and goodbyes sent her way from new students cheer her immensely. They wouldn’t be that friendly if she’d almost put them to sleep with her first class, right? It had been an introduction to what the semester would entail: an overview of the course topics and requirements, along with what they could expect to learn over the next fifteen weeks.

She’s zipping up the carrying case for her tablet and course materials when someone slaps down a white piece of paper on the desk in front of her with slightly more force than necessary. She glances up to see an older man standing there, watching her. Not that he’s old, per se, but definitely older than 90% of the students in her classes, by a good 20-25 years or so. Which means he has perhaps 10-15 years on her. It doesn’t throw her too much, though, because it’s become increasingly common for people to go back to school in an attempt at changing careers (especially in the economy’s weak job market).

He’s about a head taller than her with dark, somewhat crazy hair, and square-rimmed glasses. In fact, ‘dark’ could describe almost everything about him – his clothes, his demeanor – everything except his eyes, which are surprisingly blue. From her first impression, he has the look about him of a stereotypical college professor, and the thought has her suppressing laughter.

“I want to join your class,” he says, without preamble, and it makes sense – she’d already recognized the white paper as an add/drop form that would let him properly register for her class, since it’s past the deadline for online registration.

Normally in these situations, she smiles and welcomes the person, signs the form, and lets them be on their way. For some reason, though…today she doesn’t.

“Why?” she asks, before she can stop herself. She realizes she sounds slightly too challenging in response to such a simple request and isn’t sure of her own motivations. Maybe she’s irked at the way he simply announced he wanted to join, instead of asking her politely (or even introducing himself). Maybe it’s the way he seems completely confident she’ll agree. Or maybe it’s something else about him, entirely.

“What do you mean ‘why’?” His tone is sharp – he’d already been reaching for the form, assuming she’d sign it instantly, and since she hasn’t, he lets his hand hover over it for a few seconds before dropping it back to his side.

“I’m merely curious,” Caitlin says, because she has no other reason. She taps a finger to one of the boxes on the form, right under where he’d written his name (‘Harrison Wells’). “This indicates you want to audit. You realize that means you’d get no credit, despite paying the same amount for the class as everyone else.”

“I’m aware of what ‘audit’ means,” he replies crisply, and she wonders if he’s taken her words as an insult. When a few more moments pass in tense silence, he picks up the form again. “I take it that you’re not going to allow me to join.” He’s already walking away when Caitlin rounds the desk to step into his path, causing him to abruptly stop.

“Did I say I wouldn’t let you in?” she asks harshly, pulling the form from his hand.

He stares down at his now-empty hand, like he can’t believe she just did that. “You weren’t exactly overly welcoming.”

“It’s not like you kindly asked me.”

He pauses, seeming to consider that, then shrugs. “Fair enough.”

She feels like she’s won some kind of battle, even though she’s not sure what it’s over, or how it started, or why. She quickly searches the desk and when she can’t find a pen or pencil anywhere (they’re stunningly scarce nowadays when so much is done with computers and tablets and smart boards), she uses an orange dry erase marker to scrawl her initials on the required line and then holds it back out for him.

“Very professional,” he murmurs, and she bristles slightly – she’s doing him a favor, after all. She’s not required to let _anyone_ into her class after the initial registration period is over.

She has every intention of taking the high road, but what she says instead is “Feel free to throw it out if it’s not _professional_ enough for you.”

His expression doesn’t change when he tips his head a little, looking from her to the paper. He can obviously tell she hasn’t appreciated his attitude, or his comments, thus far. “It’ll do,” he says, and apparently he’s as great at letting things go as she is, since he pauses for a significant moment before finishing with, “I suppose.”

Caitlin exhales slowly, deciding they’ve definitely started out on the wrong foot and she should at least try to be the adult here. “Since you only want to audit, you won’t be required to do any of the work or take any exams, but –”

“I already told you I know what ‘audit’ means,” he interjects.

Her unimpressed glare has him looking somewhat chagrined. “ _But_ ,” she begins, almost daring him to interrupt her again, “I want to tell you that I’m not like some professors you might have come across. Auditing students are not second-class students. You don’t get last priority or anything like that – which sadly, I’ve seen too often over the years. I was treated that way myself for a few courses I’ve audited and I despise it.”

She waits to let him respond, but he merely waves his hand in motion for her to continue.

“What I’m saying is that you’ll be just as important as every other student paying to take this class. It doesn’t matter to me if someone is getting credit for it or not. And even though you won’t be required to do any work, since you won’t be graded, I highly recommend following along as best you can so that you don’t get lost. Also, if you choose to write papers or take the tests, or anything else, I’ll happily grade them if you want. I’ll also work with you on anything you might need for this class.”

She stops again, realizing she’s said that in a rush, maybe worried he might be judging her the whole time she says it. She’s expecting the worst, which means she’s floored when he simply nods and says, “Thank you.”

“Great,” she says, letting a smile spread across her face, much more at ease than she’s been for their conversation so far. “For the rest of the semester, think of it like…you have full access to me.”

That has him pausing in the middle of neatly folding the form, and he sends her an assessing glance. “Full access, hmm?”

The words are innocuous enough, without any inflection, but something about the way he looks at her as he says it causes her to start blushing. She immediately turns away, hoping that covers it. She needlessly unzips her bag and pretends to rummage around inside. “Full access to my…expertise. Of course.”

“Of course,” he repeats and when she risks looking up at him again, he’s not even facing her. In fact, he’s nearly at the door and typing something on his phone, as well. It irritates her to an irrational degree that he’d simply walk away without even saying goodbye. (And yeah, okay, maybe it stings a little, too. Were common manners such a crazy thing to expect?)

“When you leave here,” she calls after him, “the psychology building is a quarter mile straight ahead, across the park.”

He stops in the doorway and turns to face her. “What?”

“I’m sure you’ll be looking for a course where you can brush up on your interpersonal skills.”

She isn’t quite certain, but she’d bet money right then that he’s trying his damnedest not to smile at her. “That’s definitely one of the most creative ways I’ve ever been called a jerk.”

Caitlin instantly feels guilty, because she’d only been teasing. Mostly. And he _had_ been somewhat of a jerk to her. But still, she shouldn’t be insulting one of her students to his face on the very first day of class (and definitely not when the relatively mundane introduction to said class had interested him enough to want to join it).

“Sorry,” she sighs. “That was uncalled for and…I don’t know why I said it.”

“ _Maybe_ I brought it out in you,” he allows, like the admission is pulled from him entirely against his will. “I apologize. It’s not you. There’s this thing and…” He shakes his head slightly, and the rest of the sentence is left unfinished. “I’ve been told that at times I can be a little…much.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she says, slowly. “And apology accepted.”

As if the apology isn’t enough, he surprises her again by coming back across the room, standing a few feet from her. “Let me try again: I was impressed by your first lecture today and I would very much like to join your class.” He mustn’t be able to help himself, since he adds, with feigned desperation, “Please, I’m begging you, Dr. Caitlin Snow.”

She has the strangest urge to lightly hit him (he’s a stranger!) and an even more peculiar feeling that if she did so, it would be out of affection (he’s a _stranger_ ).

Instead, she holds out her hand (trying not to think of how she’ll get to touch him this way, too). “You’re more than welcome to join my class, Harrison Wells.”

His eyes widen a little that she knows his name, though he must instantly realize she’d seen it on the form, since the expression quickly vanishes. He reaches out to shake her hand and for some reason, his grip sends a shock through her; she swears she feels electricity from it travel up her entire arm. Before it can spread any further, he releases her and she nearly trips backwards in her haste to put some space between them.

“Are you okay?” His concern has her blinking, since it’s so much at odds with the kind of person she’d pegged him as a few minutes earlier. (She’s thinking she might have been incredibly wrong.)

“Fine,” she insists, forcing a smile. (Truth be told, she has no idea what had spurred her odd reaction to their handshake.) She searches vainly for some remotely believable excuse. “I’m…tired. Been a long day.”

He raises an eyebrow, almost in challenge. “It’s 2 in the afternoon.”

“Maybe I got up at 4 am,” she tries to claim.

“Did you? Get up at 4 am?”

No, she most certainly had not. “I could have,” she mumbles.

“I’ll stop bothering you, then,” he says, and before she can (irrationally) assure him that he’s not bothering her, he holds up the folded form. “Let’s hope they accept orange marker, or else you might not get the pleasure of my company for the next three months.”

“Whatever would I do,” she deadpans, grabbing her bag, and when she turns back to him, he’s smiling at her in such an unexpected way that she feels her breath catch; his smile is genuine, without a hint of the condescension or arrogance that she’d have expected in it. (She’s known this man for all of ten minutes and she’s already realizing there’s a lot more to him than he lets people see on the surface.)

“Without me in your class?” He pretends to think on it, before promising lightly, “Your life would never be the same.” He heads for the door, tapping a hand against the doorframe in a final goodbye. “See you in two days, Dr. Snow.”

“See you, Harrison,” she replies and then he’s gone.

 _Her life would never be the same without him._ She can’t help but laugh at the conceit of it – though if she’d had any idea how true that would become, the last thing she ever would have done was laugh.

**XXXXXX**

As it turns out, the registrar’s office does, indeed, accept dry erase marker on official forms.

At least, that’s what Caitlin assumes since Harrison Wells is present for her next class. And each one after that.

He always sits in the same place: the exact center of the lecture hall – the _precise_ middle. She knows because one day she’d counted the rows and then the chairs on either side of him. It can’t be an accident that it’s the seat he’s chosen. She also has no idea why, but the more time goes on, the more she feels she’s sometimes giving lectures only to him.

She attributes it to how he’s deliberately placed himself in the center, making himself the focus of the room. So how can she help it if her gaze strays to his, more often than not? If she finds herself calling on him more than the others? If she usually asks him for help when she needs a partner for various tasks and demonstrations?

The iciness of their first meeting never manifests itself again. By the third class, she even considers them…dare she say it – friends. She isn’t sure if he feels the same way, but from how warmly he seems to regard her, in general, she suspects the feeling is mutual.

It grows from there, to the point that she starts making a concerted effort to call on other students so that it doesn’t seem like she’s favoring him. (She can’t help wondering if it’s a futile effort on her part, sure that anyone who’s truly looking can easily see how much she likes him.)

Despite how he’s acted with her, from early on, it had taken him longer to warm up to other people in the class. In the beginning, it had been like he was setting out invisible signs that said ‘don’t bother me’ at every turn. By now, though, about a month into the semester, he’s friendlier and more open with others. That’s not to say that he’s not still blunt or sarcastic or acerbic (and often all three at once), but it’s never (okay, _almost_ never) meant in a mean way. It’s more that he’s hard to please, and on top of that, he loves arguing. There are certain people in the class that he routinely clashes with, such as…

“Do you have to contradict _everything_?” Cisco Ramon bites out, crossing his arms and glaring at Harry in a way that lets Caitlin know she might soon have to intervene. Cisco isn’t actually an undergraduate student, but another professor at the college (and that might be why he’s never been intimidated by Harry’s nature, the way most of the younger students in class were, at first).

Cisco and another friend of hers, Barry Allen, are both engineering professors and they’re taking part in a pilot program that claims its goal is to create more ‘well-rounded’ teachers in an ‘interconnected environment’. Apparently, administration has decided that the university’s faculty is much too segregated from each other, always sticking to their own fields, and the higher-ups want to see more cross-over. (There are also rumors the university is hoping to expand their co-teaching classes that meld two related subjects together into one course which is taught side-by-side by two professors.)

As such, what it boils down to is that participants can elect to take any course, at any level, so long as it’s outside their field, and they receive credit for it that contributes toward their yearly training and publishing requirements.

“It’s a medical ethics class,” Harry’s reminding Cisco, coolly, with a scathing look. “That means, by nature, we have to debate these issues.”

“But we’re in the same group,” Cisco stresses, in dismay, “which means we’re supposed to be on the same side!”

“You’d think,” Harry says, feigning agreement. “If only you didn’t keep choosing the wrong side.”

“Professor Snow,” Cisco pleads, just short of whining, and she rubs her hands over her face in despair. A lot of classes have ended up like this, most often when Harry’s working with Cisco or Barry. (Yet the three of them keep choosing to work together when they have the choice! She’ll never understand it.)

“Maybe we should skip the group discussions for now,” she says, infusing her voice with as much exuberance as possible. “Let’s have a class debate!”

“Isn’t that what we do every day?” Harry asks, almost mocking her, but she knows by now that he means no insult by it – the only person he might enjoy arguing with more than Cisco or Barry is her.

“It’s what _you_ do every day,” Caitlin corrects sharply. Before he can respond, she adds, “And no, debating is almost never the assignment.”

“Maybe you should articulate your lesson plans more clearly,” he tells her.

“Maybe you should work on your reading comprehension skills,” she retorts, knowing their fight is childish even as it occurs. Some part of her can never help it, though – she enjoys their back and forth as much as he does.

She holds up a paper copy of the syllabus that she keeps in her bag at all times – in the past, it was always for reference purposes, but now it’s always for times like these. (Namely, it’s for refuting things Harry tries to claim.)

“You probably changed that since the beginning of the semester,” he says, dismissively, and she valiantly resists the urge to crumple up the paper and throw it at his head. (He must know it, too, if his smirk is any indication.)

“Split into two groups,” she says, deciding to move up the plans she’d had for the last half of the class (and blatantly ignores Harry in the process). “Today’s question concerns the use of gene modification, specifically in embryos. Those of you who think it’s a mostly positive thing that will benefit future generations, eradicating terrible genetic diseases, take that side of the room.” She points to her left. “Those of you who are more cautious and worry about the slippery slope of gene modification leading to so-called ‘designer babies’, take the other side.”

She leans back against the desk as the students choose sides, noting (not for the first time) how much she hates the room’s design. It’s set up so that she’s at the front of the room, lower than the twenty rows of seats that ascend above her in steps. The rows themselves have thirty seats across, and despite the sheer size of the room, only 1/5th of the seats are full for this particular class.

She’s always despised these types of classrooms and specifically requests, every year, not to teach in them. This type of lecture hall limits how much the students can interact with each other, while also maintaining an artificial distance between her and her class. It also has the uncanny side effect of making her feel like the strange focal point of a zoo exhibit. A hundred pairs of eyes (or more, depending on the class) staring down at her? It’s beyond uncomfortable. Unfortunately, though, sometimes there are no other options and she gets stuck, having to make the best of it.

“Something wrong?” Harry inquires, particularly astute today. He also hasn’t moved from his spot in the _exact center of the room_.

“I was thinking how much I hate this type of lecture hall,” she says, then proceeds to list off her reasons why, summing up with the fact that she just has to deal with it.

“Hmm,” he says, which isn’t really an answer (not that she needs one) and he writes something in his notebook. (She’s seen him with a laptop, tablet, and smart phone on separate occasions, but he sometimes insists on being old-fashioned.)

She manages not to roll her eyes, knowing he has no way to understand her frustration. “Are you going to choose a side?” When he doesn’t glance up from his notebook, she says his name sternly. “Harrison!”

“What?” he asks, belatedly looking around to see he’s the only one left in the midst of several dozen empty seats. Everyone else has split to either side of the room.

He seems unperturbed as he carefully closes the notebook and then folds his hands on top of it. “I’ve already chosen.”

“Then move,” she orders, trying not to sigh.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear,” he says. “I choose both sides.”

 _Of course he does._ “You have to pick one or the other,” she tries to tell him.

“No, I don’t,” he says calmly. “I don’t feel more strongly about one side over the other. As such, I feel it would be disingenuous to move to either side of the room.”

“How does _anyone_ stand you?” Cisco mutters, purposely loud, and half the students near him snicker in response.

Caitlin pointedly ignores both Cisco’s jab and Harry’s infuriating ‘explanation’ for why he refuses to pick a stance. In reality, she knows he could effectively argue either side of the issue – most people could – but for whatever reason, he’s chosen _this_ as his line in the sand today. Maybe he’s expecting a debate with her, personally (which isn’t uncommon, actually), but she’s too tired to oblige.

She walks up the ten steps to his seat and sets down a stack of note cards on his desk – she can be old-fashioned at times, too. “In that case, Harrison, you can be today’s moderator.”

“What?” He warily picks up the cards, skimming them, then meets her gaze.

“Since you refuse to participate the other way, you can ask these questions to spur a friendly debate, while also ensuring that no one gets too carried away in their arguments.”

“I don’t recall getting a paycheck to teach this class,” he says smartly, even as he stands up and starts shuffling the note cards.

Caitlin descends the steps back to the front of the room. “I’m going to be watching. And judging. _And_ grading.”

Harry pauses mid-shuffle. “I thought those who audited the class didn’t get graded.”

“You _thought_ ,” she mimics him. “You might be the first person in history to fail a class in which you aren’t being graded.”

Most of the class starts laughing at her ‘threat’, and after seeing the look on Harry’s face, Caitlin has to turn away so she doesn’t laugh, too.

After the laughter fades, Harry opens his mouth, about to read the first question from the note card, and that’s when Caitlin intervenes. She claps a couple times, loudly, to ensure she has everyone’s attention. “You’ve all switched sides.”

“Huh?” Barry asks, voicing everyone's confusion. (He’s chosen the side to be cautious of genetic alteration and Cisco has chosen the side to embrace it.)

Caitlin speaks slowly and concisely: “You’ve. Switched. Sides. Those of you who want severe restrictions on genetic engineering and worry about its future consequences, you’re now on the side of wholeheartedly embracing it. And those of you who want it implemented ASAP and think it will mostly benefit humans immensely, you now have to argue for restrictions and the potential problems that such engineering will cause.” Her explanation is met with low grumbling at first, and then outright complaints by the students who are beyond unhappy at having to argue the opposite of what they’d wanted.

She merely watches them without saying anything, waiting until they realize she won’t speak until they’re quiet. “This is what academia – what _life_ – is about,” she informs them. “Recognizing the other side of issues that you’re passionate about. Learning how to defend your ideas to other people – and there’s no better way to do that than to argue the opposite side of your preferred stance.”

Harry’s tapping the note cards on his desk, watching her with such gravity that she’s almost uncomfortable. At times, she feels like his scrutiny goes above and beyond what she should expect from a student who’s merely auditing one of her classes. She brushes off the feeling and gestures for him to start asking the questions.

Thus begins the class’s debate on the ramifications of genetic engineering on embryos. Caitlin expects that she’ll have to repeatedly intervene to keep things on track, but Harry’s…shockingly more adept than she’d thought he’d be. He has no problem keeping the debate going – when an interesting tangent develops, he lets it play out, and then returns to the matter at hand. His behavior is drastically the opposite of how he is as a group participant. Instead of arguing with everyone, just for the hell of it (which is what she often suspects his motive is), he lets them discuss whatever they want, and when they stray too far off course, he steers them back in such a solicitous way that she almost can’t believe what she’s witnessing.

The last hour of their class flies by and before she knows it, the clock’s at 1:50 and they’re packing up. As they leave, numerous students are actually congratulating Harry _on a job well done as moderator_ , and Caitlin feels like she’s fallen into some kind of alternate reality.

“Hold on,” she says loudly, causing everyone to freeze. “I’m looking for a teaching assistant starting next semester. Anyone who’s interested, please come see me during my office hours.”

“Too bad my schedule is so busy this year, I would love to be your T.A.,” Cisco tells her, jokingly, as he comes up to her desk. “I’d keep everyone in line. You know,” he hitches a thumb toward Harry, who’s right behind him, “like your problem students.”

“I almost wish I’d taken a class with you,” Harry says mildly. “Think of how much fun we would have had. Me pointing out every aspect in which you’re wrong…”

Cisco lets the insult slide, asking curiously, “Why are you taking this class, anyways?” (Caitlin’s interest is piqued because it’s a question she’s asked several times before, and Harry always talks around the answer.) “No offense, Harry, but you’re not exactly the type of person who usually takes an undergraduate class.”

“Are you calling me old, Ramon?” Harry’s voice is as dry as sandpaper.

“Is that the term you’d use?” Cisco says, feigning confusion.

“You’re never too old to learn,” Harry tells him briskly, and Caitlin nods in agreement, even as she stifles her disappointment that it’s another non-answer about his reason for taking her class.

Barry walks up to the three of them, having overheard that last line. “I certainly understand what it’s like to get older,” he says cheerfully. He steps between Harry and Cisco, clasping each of them on the shoulder. “None of us are in our teens anymore, right? I remember what it was like entering my twenties. Boy, was that a major change!”

Cisco merely frowns at him, but Harry’s expression causes Caitlin to burst out laughing, made all the worse when he sends her a sharp look of reproval.

Once she gets herself under control, she meets Harry’s eyes and the fondness she’s sure she sees there leaves her feeling warm all over.

“I have to get going,” Cisco is saying, as he walks backwards out of the room, with Barry in tow, “but I’ll try to encourage some students that I think would make a good fit as your T.A.”

“I appreciate it,” she says, and then everyone’s gone. Except for Harrison Wells.

“Do you want to apply to be my T.A.?” she teases, as she perches on the edge of her desk.

“Hardly,” he scoffs, lingering a few feet from her (and part of her wonders if he’s waiting for her so they can leave together; he’s done it a couple times before, and she’d like if it became a habit). “Luckily for you, Ramon’s a professor and can’t fulfill the role. You dodged a bullet, there.”

“I’m sure he’d have done fine,” she says pleasantly, turning to put her tablet back in its case. “What’s your argument for why I ‘dodged a bullet’, as you say?”

“Because he’s _Cisco_ ,” Harry laments, as if it’s an answer.

“That’s not a reason,” Caitlin points out, heading for the door (and when he follows, she hurriedly suppresses any hope or excitement she might feel from his company).

“It’s reason enough for me,” Harry quips. Off her look, he grudgingly allows, “He _might_ have been…adequate.”

“You’re extremely generous with your compliments,” she says wryly, trying not to focus on how closely they’re walking together.

“I only give them out when they’re earned.”

“If even then,” she chides, and it strikes her how well she seems to know him after the relatively short amount of time they’ve spent in each other’s company. Maybe he thinks the same, since he sends her a measuring glance.

The conversation falls quiet and Caitlin finds herself thinking back to the question he never seems to want to answer. She figures it can't hurt to ask again. “Why did you take my class?”

“I…have a project I’m working on,” he tells her, as they reach the building’s exit. He opens the door, holding it for her, and they step into the brisk autumn air. It’s colder than normal for this time of year, but not terribly so, and streams of students filter around them making their way to various classes.

“What’s your project about?”

“Oh, a variety of things,” he says. “Medical ethics is only part of it.”

Caitlin is well-aware that doesn’t really answer anything, but before she can challenge him on it, he’s motioning to his right, toward the complex of buildings that houses mathematics. “I’m heading this way.”

“I’m going left,” she says, ignoring the twinge of unhappiness she feels at the mere fact of them heading in separate directions.

“Then this is where we part ways, Dr. Snow.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me ‘Caitlin’? I don’t call you ‘Dr. Wells’ do I?” She knows, by now, that he has two advanced degrees in physics and engineering (and that’s not only because she looked him up – he’d never made any effort to hide his educational background). It does make her wonder, though, about why he has a newfound interest in medicine and biology after all these years – to the point that he’s auditing an _undergraduate_ class on medical ethics, at that. (She knows he could research everything they discuss in class on his own and learn it much faster.)

He distracts her from that line of thought when he says, “Fair enough, Caitlin.” The careful way he speaks her name, almost like he’s savoring it, causes a shiver to run down her spine. And then he adds, in that same tone, “Snow.”

“What?”

“Caitlin Snow,” he repeats, like she’s obtuse. “Your name.”

“You don’t have to say the whole thing, Harrison.” (Then she can’t help mocking him.) “Wells.”

“I was trying to see which one I liked better,” he tells her, by way of an actual explanation. “Caitlin or Snow.”

“And?”

“I’m undecided. I think I’ll go back and forth.”

She has no idea how she can be so exasperated with him while also being so damn amused. “I’m glad this has turned into such an issue for you,” she says, observing that the number of students outside has dropped off significantly and she needs to get to her next class a few buildings away, instead of standing around with him. (Though if she could have her way right then…she’d keep standing around with him.)

She takes a few steps back, silently indicating she has to go, and then she realizes how easily she became distracted from the original question he’s only ever answered in the vaguest of terms. “I’ll see you next week. And whatever you have going on, I hope my class has been helping you.”

“You have been helping me more than you’ll ever know,” he assures her. “See you, Snow.”

(She doesn’t miss that he’d referred specifically to _her_ and not her class.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback - one more chapter after this and it will be complete!

Caitlin Snow had fallen in love exactly once in her life.

It had been nearly a decade earlier, and she’d married him, and then her husband had died in a tragic accident.

They’d both been so very young; she’d worked through Ronnie’s death long ago, but she still preferred not to think about it. It had led to a profound effect on her life, too – she hadn’t had a serious relationship (one where she could see a real future) in the years since Ronnie died. Her choice of career meant that she came across plenty of single men, and she’d tried dating several of them, even a fellow professor or two, but nothing ever lasted. Over the past few years, she’d started turning down opportunities more often until eventually that was her _only_ response.

There had simply been no one she cared about to even a _tenth_ of the degree she had Ronnie, despite giving it a few actual chances. She didn’t like to think that she’d given up, but more that…she was sick of trying to find love again. In the end, it never felt worth it to put energy into something she knew wouldn’t last, so it had become second-nature to stop trying.

But lately she’s found herself thinking…

What if she _did_ want to try again? What if she had feelings for someone before even going on a single date?

She won’t lie to herself – she knows she’s been thinking about it because of one person, and one person only: Harrison Wells. Their friendship has steadily been getting stronger and she’s finding that over the past couple months, Medical Ethics has become her favorite class. She loves teaching all her courses, most days, but this one makes her happier than the others. Because it’s where she gets to see _him_.

Not that she lets that interfere with her role as a professor; her number one priority while teaching is her students and that will never change, but she recognizes that he’s slowly becoming the highlight of her weeks. The real question is: what is she going to do about it…if anything?

She tries to shake herself out of her thoughts. She’s not a teenager anymore, back in the days when she would obsess over her most recent crush and wonder if he liked her back. (So why does it sometimes _feel_ like she’s still that girl?)

She really has to pull herself together or one of these days she’s going to slip and do something inappropriate, like stare at him while daydreaming… _which she’s doing right now_.

Thankfully, he’s not looking at her and she snaps her eyes away, quickly checking to make sure no one else has noticed, either. The students are partnered up for today’s discussion, and she breathes out in relief that no one has caught her.

They’re about three-quarters of the way through the fall semester and winter is rapidly approaching. It’s the last day of classes before Thanksgiving break, and she’s honored that by telling her students they have no homework or assignments due for the next week. A check of the clock tells her it’s time to let them go and she dismisses everyone, wishing them a safe vacation.

Harry stops next to her desk as she goes through her regular ritual of packing up everything after class. Their almost-habit from the previous month has become an actual routine, much to her delight. They’ll talk while she gathers her things and then he’ll walk her out of the building. (And if they both arrive early to class, before it starts, they spend that time together, too.) Their discussions have slowly moved beyond the class itself; it’s easy to talk to him about anything and everything – he’s even helped her work through a few issues with her current research projects.

As the semester’s gone on, Caitlin has noticed the increasingly curious looks from other students and knows that they wonder about the exact nature of her relationship with Harry – and the truth is, Caitlin herself has that same question. She definitely feels a spark between them that goes beyond the bounds of friendship, but has he felt it, too? And if so, would he have any interest in pursuing it?

“It’s quite generous of you to skip giving out work over the break,” Harry tells her.

“It’s more about selfishness,” she admits, corner of her mouth lifting. “It saves me from the horror of returning to hundreds of assignments to correct during the mad rush of the last few weeks before the winter holidays, which is when I’m most needed, especially for my students who are struggling. Besides, they’ve earned the break to go home and be with their families, not spend their time off worrying about completing assignments for me. They’ll have enough of that preparing for finals.” She frowns a little. “And from the other professors who assign things over Thanksgiving, anyways.”

“You really care about your students,” he murmurs, and it’s not surprise in his voice, but it’s…something she can’t label.

She finishes putting everything away and smiles at him. “Were you under the impression that I didn’t?”

That time, surprise _does_ flash across his face. “No! I’m sorry if it came across that way. That’s not even remotely what I meant. I only meant that, in general, it’s a wonderful thing to see. Your dedication to these kids…it shows.”

“Not all of my students are kids,” she says, archly.

“I’m young at heart,” he tries to tell her, laughing even as he says it.

“Please! If anything, you act like twice your actual age. How many times this month alone have you lamented that things were better back in the ‘good old days’?”

He seems about to argue her point before realizing he can’t, so he tries arguing a different point instead. “Things _were_ better back in the good old days.”

“How many kids have you told to get off your lawn in the past month?”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” he says, as if he’s put out.

“That tells me it’s at least a dozen,” she hums, and he’s smiling so she knows he’s not really annoyed at her jokes.

She takes a step toward the door, expecting Harry to come along, but he sets a hand on her arm to stop her. “Caitlin, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. If you have a moment.”

“I have some time,” she replies, even as she feels her heart rate quicken. She wonders if he’s going to bring up what she’s been thinking about for weeks. For months. If he’s going to tell her he cares about her and ask if she feels the same for him. Or maybe skip that part altogether and simply ask her out. Right then, she can’t think of anything she wants more.

“Professor Snow?” a young man interrupts them. Caitlin recognizes him as Ian, a student she’s had in several classes before, but not this current semester. He glances at Harry and then says, “Sorry, I can come back another time.”

“No, it’s fine, I was actually on my way out,” Harry informs the younger man, and it’s only when he removes his hand from Caitlin’s arm that she realizes he’d never let go of her. He sends her a look of apologetic regret and Caitlin nods a little in acceptance, even as she struggles to set aside her disappointment that Ian’s presence has spurred him to leave.

As Harry heads for the door, Caitlin turns to face her former student. “How can I help you?”

He’s suddenly nervous, looking more at his feet than at her. Ian’s always been a self-assured, outgoing student, which means she has a sinking feeling about where this might be going. And she can’t think of anything she wants less. _Don’t ask me,_ she silently pleads. _Don’t ask me, don’t ask –_

“I’ve had such a fantastic time in your classes these past two years,” Ian finally manages to say, before gathering his courage and meeting her eyes. “I was wondering if you would consider…going for coffee sometime.”

She’s vaguely aware that Harry has stopped just inside the doorway, and he’s close enough that she knows he must have overheard Ian. (Whether that’s why he chooses not to leave, or if he’s merely changed his mind and decided to wait for her after all, she has no idea.)

Either way, he’s going to witness firsthand how she’s mastered turning down students over the years while minimizing embarrassment for everyone involved.

“As flattered as I am,” she tells Ian, carefully, “I’m seeing someone right now. And besides that, you know the university frowns upon professors dating students.”

“Yeah, I know,” he admits, sheepishly. He’s clearly letdown, but also seems relieved that he’s gotten the question over with. “I thought you were worth taking the chance, though.”

“Thank you, Ian,” she tells him warmly. “There are plenty of wonderful women around this campus who I’m sure would love to be asked out by someone like you.”

“Thanks,” he says, turning a little red. “I’m sorry that I –”

“No apology necessary,” she assures him. “There’s no harm done.”

“I don’t know who around here might compare to you,” he sighs, a bit over the top, and she guesses that he’s quickly returned to his over-confident manner to sweep past her rejection. “I’ll take your suggestion, though.” He tilts his head before asking, slyly, “Do you know if Professor West is single, by any chance?”

She mock-scowls at him. “Ian, when I said there are women who’d love to be asked out by you, I meant your fellow peers, not your other professors.”

“Hey, you miss all the shots you don’t take, right?” he throws back, grinning at her as he leaves.

Caitlin shakes her head, mostly glad she’s gotten through yet another potentially awkward encounter. She knows a handful of professors who’ve dated students in the past (despite the ‘strong recommendations’ against it), and while some relationships have worked out, others have ended disastrously. (The vast majority of those disasters, however, have been because of the age differences, and not because the couples originally met as teacher and student.)

Caitlin had never had any desire to wade into that minefield with a young student, especially because while she gets older every year, the vast majority of her students stay between the ages of 18 and 22. There have been older students, sure, but she’s also never wanted to cross that line with any of them, either.

 _Well_ , she thinks as Harry walks back over to her, _not until now._

(Harrison Wells is the exception to a lot of things, not least of all her sudden desire to break every personal rule she’s ever set for herself as a professor.)

“Well done,” he says, nodding in the direction that Ian had left.

“I try,” she says wryly. “I basically have the script memorized by now – politely turning them down by saying I’m in a relationship to lessen the sting, and then gently steering them towards their peers if they’re looking for romantic companionship.”

He abruptly laughs. “Romantic companionship? Does anyone else under 60 use that term anymore?”

“Guess you wouldn’t be able to tell me,” she says smartly, and it takes him a few seconds to work out that teasing insult.

“Hilarious, Snow. You know I’m not over 60.” He eyes her, frowning a little. “I hope.”

“If you say so…” she tells him, infusing her words with playful suspicion.

“How often does this happen that you have a standard response, Mrs. Robinson?”

She sends him an unamused look despite knowing he can tell she’s exceedingly amused. “A few times a year, usually,” she sighs, annoyed all over again. “I blame our culture; almost every teen TV show or situational comedy of the past forty years has included some attractive ‘older’ teacher – and by older, I mean early thirties – and the teenager who can’t resist her. Then they have a passionate affair that usually marks a turning point in his life – from boy to man. But it’s much rarer to see the reverse, a much older man in a relationship with his teenage, female student, because _that_ comes across as predatory in a way a teenage boy and an older woman does not.”

Harry’s blinking at her and she suddenly realizes she’s gone on a mini-rant. “Have you written a paper on this, or…?”

“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” she explains, laughing a little. “Sorry that I got carried away. I actually don’t care what people like, or choose to watch, but the double standard annoys me. That and how I’m convinced it’s a big part of the reason why so many of my students have asked me out over the years.”

“I’m pretty sure they’d be asking you out even if our culture didn’t glorify it.”

“Is that…” She slowly smiles at him. “Are you complimenting me?”

“I _am_ capable of giving compliments,” he says, haughtily. “Despite what _some_ –” his pointed look means he’s talking about her, “– may think.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she replies, sentiment genuine. “You know, I’m almost looking forward to the days when I’m in my forties and the propositions from students drop off.”

“Now I think you’re fishing,” he accuses. “You know damn well they’d still be hitting on you when you’re in your forties.”

“ _Two_ compliments in as many minutes?” she needles, though she’s pretty certain her smile couldn’t get any wider. “Are you _sure_ you’re the Harrison Wells who’s been in my class this whole semester?”

“You’ve got me,” he sounds exasperated, but she hears the affection inherent in his words. “I’m actually a different version of him from another dimension.”

“That’s the best you can come up with?” she scoffs. “Don’t ever quit your day job to become a writer.”

“Fine, since you’re apparently a literary scholar now, too, what would be your explanation if I were someone else?”

She ponders that for a few moments. “That you have an evil twin who’s actually the difficult and sardonic one I’ve known this entire time.”

“I’m _difficult_?” he gasps, pressing a hand to his heart. Before she can respond to his theatrically dramatic question, he continues with, “Twins, really? The plot of a daytime soap opera?” He’s shaking his head in disappointment. “ _That’s_ a better story than alternate dimensions? In what reality?”

“In the reality where it’s fun to argue with you just to argue with you,” she admits, giving in.

“I don’t have to stay here and take this harassment,” he warns her, making no move toward the exit.

She grins at him. “And yet…here you are.”

“Maybe I’m hoping to hear another lecture about the portrayals of teacher and student relationships in pop culture,” he suggests, light enough that she knows he isn’t serious. “And I must say, while I do understand your points about potential impropriety, this is hardly high school. The vast majority of your students are over 18.”

“Are you saying I should date my students?” she chides, even as she can’t help wondering if he’s steering the conversation towards the topic of _them_.

“Of course not,” he says, gravely. “Not _all_ of them.”

“Just some of them?” she laughs. “The university actively discourages it, though I don’t think there are written rules against it.”

“You don’t _think_?” he repeats. “Do you mean to tell me you haven’t read your employee handbook cover to cover?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” she says, conspiratorially, even as she feels her anticipation rising again. She makes an impulsive decision to challenge him: “Besides, Harry, what would that look like? If I dated a student?”

“I don’t know,” he says, as his smile fades. “What _would_ that look like?”

She opens her mouth to try and say something to regain their levity, but it vanishes from her mind the second she meets his eyes. She can’t think of a single thing to say. She’s lost – _too_ lost. She’d been thinking she liked him enough that she’d be okay with trying to date again. Something casual. Perhaps with the hope that it might turn into more, down the road.

But in that moment, she realizes it’s already something more…at least for her. She has a sudden flash that if they start this, she’s _never going to want to end it_.

It’s dangerous, because she has no idea if he feels the same. It’d mean taking risks, putting herself out there again…and that’s something she hasn’t had to deal with in years. The biggest upside of avoiding serious relationships after Ronnie was that she never had to deal with the potential of getting hurt. She’s suddenly staring at those risks head-on, though, and despite _all_ of it, everything that could go wrong…she wants to try, anyways.

She wants to try with _him_.

“Caitlin –” he begins, as a few students enter the room, startling her out of her thoughts. She glances at the clock, surprised to see how much time has passed since her ethics class ended. Her next class is three buildings over and there’s no way she’s going to make it on time.

“I have to go.” She hastily grabs her things, smiling ruefully. “I’d ask you to walk with me but I’m actually going to be nearly running. I guess I wasn’t paying attention – and whose fault is that?”

“Are you blaming me for the fact that you’re going to be late to your next class?”

“That depends…does it sound at all believable?”

He tips his chin toward the exit, and she can see in his eyes that he’s laughing at her. "Go on.”

She’s almost out of the room before realizing she didn’t even apologize to him, and turns in the doorway to look back (nearly getting herself run over by a few students as a result). “Sorry that we didn’t have time to talk about…?” She has an idle hope that he’ll take the opening to ask her out, but to her disappointment, he merely waves at her.

“We can discuss it another time.”

“Okay, after the break then.” She briefly considers being the one to ask _him_ , but…no, she’d rather wait. She doesn’t want it to be in a rushed ten seconds, and she also thinks talking to him near the end of the semester will be better. Then, if they turn out to be on completely different wavelengths, they can simply part as friends and spare any awkwardness of having more classes together left in the semester. “Have a wonderful vacation, Harry.”

“You as well, Caitlin Snow.”

She smiles to herself at how he’s still never chosen a preferred name for her, and then she’s off for her next class, hoping she arrives before the restless students decide she’s canceled it.

**XXXXXX**

Caitlin sighs as she finishes grading another paper on her tablet and then rubs the back of her neck as she leans back in her desk chair, trying to work out the stiffness. She’s probably been working too long; her office hours are long over, but she’s reluctant to go home. She finds that it’s easier to power through things while at the university because when she’s home, it’s too tempting to set it aside for a ‘later time’ that often never comes.

She loves being a professor, but sometimes she hates reading through the students’ essays. Especially when they’re as poorly written as many of these ones are. Most of her students are bright, but that doesn’t necessarily correlate with great writing skills. In the paper she’d just read, more than half the sentences were fragments and she’d had to struggle to try and understand what the student was trying to say.

A chime from the tablet indicates a new email and she inwardly groans when she sees it’s a reminder about a university-wide staff meeting the following week. The last thing she wants is to sit there for hours while administration drones on about the usual issues – planned campus expansions, budgetary concerns, staff change-overs, and various other issues that never fail to bore her.

She wants to _teach_. She couldn’t care less about the politics and business side of how the university works, and as such, she only attends such meetings when it’s literally required of her.

Light knocking on her open door has her eagerly calling for the person to come in as she sets the tablet aside. When she glances up, her heart feels like it flips over – Harry’s standing there, as if unsure about entering even though she’s already extended the invitation.

“Hi!” she greets, much more enthusiastically than she meant to. “It’s past my office hours, but I suppose I can make an exception. For you.”

“I’m honored,” he says, coming further into the room – it’s pretty good-sized for a faculty office – and he sits in one of the chairs facing her desk, the same place where he always sits when he stops by. It’s not uncommon for him to visit during her office hours, but he’s never shown up this late at night before, and she wonders why he’d still be at the university.

They’ve had several classes since coming back from Thanksgiving break, but he’s never brought up the topic he’d wanted to discuss with her before they were interrupted that day. She hasn’t asked him about it, either, deciding she’d wait for him to mention it again.

(Truthfully, she’s worried that she might have been exaggerating to herself what was between them; that it might only be friendship, and because she’d been hoping he wanted more, she’d seen things that weren’t there.)

She can’t deny, though, that a significant part of her is hoping this might be him deciding to bring it up again. “How can I help you?”

“Why are you here so late?” he asks, instead of answering her. “Your office hours ended three hours ago and it’s past 8.”

“It’s easier for me to grade papers here than at home,” she answers, then decides it’s the perfect chance to flip the question around. Fair is fair. “Why are _you_ here so late?”

“Lots of stuff to take care of,” he informs her, and when she watches him expectantly, he adds, “for my project.”

“Right,” she nods. “This mysterious project you’ve mentioned several times this semester yet will never elaborate on…” He’s never said that he was enrolled in any other classes at the college, but she knows he’s dropped in on more than a few of them, across all different subjects – he’s mentioned as much over the past few months, and whenever she’s questioned it, he refers to his project and then changes the subject.

“There’s a reason I couldn’t talk about it,” he says. “Or…there was.”

“Does that mean the reason’s gone?”

“Not really,” he says. “It’s more accurate to say that I can talk about it now when I couldn’t before.”

She leans forward, wondering what his ‘project’ could possibly be. She’s come up with several theories the past couple months. One is that he’s writing a book and had taken her class for research purposes. (Maybe he’d even want her contributions, if it were non-fiction.) Another is that he’s decided to go into teaching himself and had taken her class to get a feel for what being a professor entailed. A third is that he’s from a rival university and has been studying their biology program, maybe even in an attempt to entice her away from her current job (and she admits the last is more a dream than anything else – how amazing would it be if she were known well enough in her field that other schools tried to steal her?).

The only problem with most of her scenarios is that none of them seem worth hiding the truth of what he’s doing, except maybe the last one, but that’s a long-shot – Harrison Wells isn’t the type to try and lure her to a new job with subterfuge. He’d be much more likely to simply present his offer and list the reasons why she should take it.

Another chime from her tablet has her quickly checking and then sighing in frustration.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“It’s a duplicate of an email I got five minutes ago, only it was sent by someone else. You’d think administration would coordinate these things better.”

“What do you think of the administration here?” He’s looking around the office, but she gets the distinct sense he’s doing it so that it will seem like his question isn’t as important as it actually is. He’s asked her similar questions before about the university environment, how she liked it there, how the professors got along amongst themselves and with the students. What the atmosphere’s like, in general.

This evening, though, his question sets her on edge. “The administration’s fine,” she says, keeping her answer concise. “No complaints.”

“That might change,” he tells her, sounding almost…dejected.

She narrows her eyes at the odd statement. “Why would you say that? Does it have anything to do with your project?” At this point, she thinks she wouldn’t be surprised at _anything_ he tells her.

“In a way, it does,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees as he clasps his hands. His stare has turned more intense than she recalls ever seeing from him. “Around ten years ago, I got tired of running an engineering lab all day, every day. I was just…sick of it. And in all honesty, I felt it was a waste of my expertise. You can’t interact with the public and your colleagues know pretty much everything that you know. We were doing the exact same things, day in and day out, and while every breakthrough was fantastic, over time, they couldn’t make up for the monotony I otherwise felt.”

“Research alone was never enough for me, either,” she agrees, understanding what he’s trying to say. “I needed more than that. I wanted to contribute to the world in some way, and I found that with teaching.”

He’s nodding along as she speaks. “Exactly, you need to find what’s right for you. By the end of my first career, nothing _excited_ me anymore, Caitlin. I wanted…well, I wasn’t sure what, exactly, but to do _more_ with my life than I had up until that point. So I quit and took some time to think. I decided to reconsider every possibility that I’d ever shut down in my life. I’d go where I wanted, do what I wanted, and not let anything stop me. Not until I found what I was looking for.”

“I bet you climbed the highest mountains,” she asserts, keeping her face carefully blank.

It takes him all of a half-second. “Snow –”

“And ran through the fields, as well,” she interrupts. “Maybe even scaled a few city walls?”

“Before you quote the whole song to me,” he says, eyes sparkling, “the answer is yes, Caitlin Snow. I found what I never knew I was looking for. In fact…I found much more than that.”

“Are you a journalist?” she asks, before he can say anything else. She’s been trying to put the pieces together and part of her wants to know how good her detective skills have been. “Is there some kind of scandal going on at the university? And you had to pretend to be a student to uncover it?” (When she’d looked him up online, she’d only found his education and an incomplete job history. He’d worked at several engineering labs, but the past ten years were more or less a black hole where he was concerned. She’d found no clues as to what he might do nowadays, and he’d only ever told her he was between jobs.)

“A journalist?” He’s genuinely confused, which causes her to deflate a little. “Investigating a scandal while I’m _undercover_ as a student? That’s what you thought?”

“I thought it was an intriguing possibility,” she says defensively, irked at being completely wrong.

“I’m not a journalist,” he confirms. “And I can only imagine what else you’ve been considering.”

Her eyes light up with another possibility and she asks, mostly tongue-in-cheek, “Are you an actor who’s researching a role?”

“You seem to think my life is a lot more exciting than it actually is,” he tells her, dryly. “I will say that you’re on the right track. Sort of.” His humor fades a little and he turns more apprehensive. “Should I tell you or do you want to keep guessing for a while?”

She mulls that over before deciding she’s had enough suspense. She’s about to tell him to just come out with it, when of course ( _of course_ ) someone knocks on her office door, walking into the room without waiting for an invitation. It’s a student from one of Caitlin’s biology classes, a freshman named Cora, and her eyes are red-rimmed from crying.

“Professor Snow, I know it’s past office hours –” The young woman stops in her tracks when she sees Harry sitting across from Caitlin’s desk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize someone else was here.” She sniffs and ineffectively wipes at her eyes. “I’ll go.”

“No, wait,” Caitlin says, jumping to her feet. “Please. Stay.”

“I’ll go,” Harry offers, glancing between the two women.

“No,” Cora says, “that’s not fair. I don’t mean to kick you out.” Before Harry can leave (which Caitlin can tell he still wants to do), Cora sits down in the chair next to him and the story spills out of her in a tangled rush of words. As it turns out, she’s terrified of failing the biology final since she’s been struggling in Caitlin’s class, and is having the same problem in a calculus class she’s taking. She’s also living in one of the dorms and having a hard time adjusting to being away from home.

Caitlin has seen this kind of thing many times before – the girl is simply overwhelmed at going through so many changes at once and Caitlin’s heart breaks for her, a little. It’s easy to forget how young many of these students are, and how difficult it is for some of them to go from an environment in high school where everything is dictated to them, to one where they have so much free will. Caitlin also knows it’s hard for them to reach out for help, both from feeling ashamed and from thinking they’re the only ones going through it. (She suspects she’d hear from a lot more of them if they only knew how many of their friends and classmates felt the exact same way, but hid it equally as well.)

It takes a while to talk the girl through her issues, and to Caitlin’s surprise, Harry significantly contributes to their discussion. The two of them reassure Cora that she’s not alone, direct her to a variety of study groups for her classes, and recommend she talk to her parents about the possibility of transferring to another college or commuting the next year.

“Despite what you see in movies, living at college isn’t for everyone,” Caitlin tells her. “For many people, it _isn’t_ the best time of their lives.” She comes around the desk to set her hand on Cora’s shoulder. “Don’t let anyone tell you how you should live or what you should feel. That’s for _you_ to decide.”

Cora quickly stands and before Caitlin can move back, the girl is throwing her arms around her in a grateful hug. “Thank you,” she says quietly. A few more tears have escaped her eyes, but now they’re from relief and not misery. She turns to look over at Harry adding, “That thanks is directed at you, too.”

“You’re more than welcome,” he says, as he jots something on a red post-it note that he’s stolen from the rainbow block of them situated on Caitlin’s desk.

“Before you go,” Caitlin tells her, “let me give you one more thing, the information for –”

“I’ve got it, Snow,” Harry says, giving the post-it to Cora. “The university has counselors who specialize in this kind of thing.” The young woman glances warily from him to the note and back again. “They assist students who need help with any matter you could possibly think of. They’re there if the only thing you want to do is talk. They’re free of charge, and they want to help. You can call them or you can go down in person. Whatever’s most comfortable for you.”

Cora nods, swallowing heavily, and Caitlin gets the sense she’s trying not to cry again.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” she asks the girl, gently.

Cora assures her that she is and promises she’ll look into the resources they’ve given her, including contacting a counselor the next day.

After she’s gone, Caitlin falls into the chair next to Harry that Cora had been sitting in. “Not what you expected from your evening, is it?” she questions, feeling the tiredness seep in, sure he can probably hear it in her words, too.

“I wouldn’t have wanted to spend it any other way,” he tells her, and she wonders how much truth is in his statement, exactly.

“You were pretty helpful,” she says. “I’m impressed how much you knew about the resources we have for students.” Not least of all, that he’d known the information for the health and counseling centers off the top of his head.

“My daughter struggled a lot during her first year of college,” he explains. “I’ve been through it all before.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Caitlin murmurs. She already knows he has a daughter because he speaks of her often, and fondly. (Truth be told, the clear love she always hears when he talks about Jesse has only made Caitlin admire him more.) He’d been raising her alone since his wife died some ten years earlier, coincidentally around the same time Caitlin had lost her own husband. He’d told her that Jesse had recently graduated (from a different college), but he’d never talked about what she’d gone through.

She idly wonders if that has anything to do with what he’d been talking about before Cora arrived. Had he wanted a different career in order to give back some of what he’d received over the years, from so many others?

“I let her attend college a few years early,” Harry says, without prompting, probably because he can see the question on her face. “She’s brilliant, so I thought it’d be fine. However, I miscalculated and didn’t realize she wasn’t socially ready for the experience. She ended up taking a year off to adjust after a pretty awful freshman year. She hid it from me almost the whole time, so some of the things Cora was talking about… I can relate based on similar things Jesse told me about her experiences. We’d been to counseling on and off over the years, after the loss of her mother, and we both started again during her college years; it helped us both immensely. I’m sure it will help Cora, too.”

Caitlin can tell, from how he’s speaking, that his memories of that time still cause him pain. She wants to say something reassuring, but isn’t sure what. She settles for, “You’re a good father,” because based on everything he’s ever told her, she knows it’s true.

(She also thinks that after his wife died, he’d probably never heard it from anyone except Jesse.)

The look on his face right then…she doesn’t think she’s ever seen it before. It takes him a moment to be able to speak. “Thank you, Snow.”

“I call it like I see it,” she says, trying to lighten the mood that’s turned unexpectedly heavy.

“In that case, you’d have excelled at being a therapist as much as you do at teaching,” he tells her. “The way you calmed her down with such ease... I was impressed.”

“I had some help,” she says, reaching a foot out to tap the leg of his chair. “I’ve also had a lot of practice at it over the years. Cora isn’t the first student to come to me distraught and she won’t be the last. It’s part of the job and I don’t mind it. In fact, I’m glad that she felt comfortable enough to come to me for help. I hope plenty of others feel that way, too. If so, it means I’m doing something right.”

“You’re doing a lot of things right,” he tells her quietly. “Your students are lucky to have you.” From the way he says it, she’s pretty sure he’s talking about himself there, too.

(And there goes her heart again.)

“I’m equally lucky to have them,” she says, carefully. “Getting up every day, coming to a job I love, it’s mostly because of them. All of them.” She hopes he can read between the lines, to everything she isn’t quite saying out loud. “I’m grateful every day that I was able to find what I believe to be my purpose in life. But what about you?” She’s referring back to their earlier conversation. “In your search for…more. What did _you_ find?”

He’s watching her and she can tell he’s about to speak again when his phone starts buzzing.

“She must have sensed we were talking about her,” he says, holding up the display so she can see Jesse’s the one calling. He answers and listens for maybe thirty seconds before saying he’ll be there as soon as he can.

“Is everything alright?” Caitlin asks, getting to her feet along with him.

“Her car started acting up on the way home. She managed to drive to our usual shop so they can look at it in the morning when they open. I have to go pick her up.” He stops for a moment. “I’m sorry we keep getting interrupted.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says, turning off her tablet and thinking she should get home soon, too. “We can talk later.”

“I’m going away the next few days,” he says, mentally calculating. “How about we meet up after your classes on Tuesday?”

She smiles in promise. “I’ll pencil it in.”

“Great,” he replies. “Have a fantastic weekend, Snow.”

She wishes the same to him as he leaves, thinking about how there’s only one week of regular classes left before finals are upon them, and then a full month of winter break. She’s going to sleep a lot and catch up on overdue reading and TV shows, and she _really_ hopes she might see Harry sometime – or lots of times – in between all of that.

She has no idea how the term has gone by so quickly, but she definitely knows why it’s become her favorite semester she’s ever had.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated splitting this last chapter since it became so long, but eventually decided to just post it all at once. (And thanks to crazygirlne for her encouragement on that ;) I hope everyone enjoys the ending!

It’s Wednesday evening, about twenty minutes before the university’s mandatory staff meeting, and Caitlin’s pacing outside of the school’s largest auditorium.

There are people everywhere – fellow professors and other staff members of the university – and she recognizes the vast majority of them, but she’s an expert at dodging by now, carefully slipping away anytime someone attempts an extended conversation.

At the moment, she doesn’t want to talk to any of them – she wants to talk to Harry, but he’s not there, despite promising he’d find her before the meeting started. He’d sent her an email the previous day that he’d been delayed in his trip home and couldn’t attend class or meet with her afterwards, but still wanted to talk to her as soon as he returned. Since they’d talked plenty of times over email and texts, she’d asked why he couldn’t just tell her that way, and he’d responded that it was something he wanted to say in person. That had meant that she’d (ridiculously) gotten her hopes up about what he might tell her – because if he wanted to say whatever it was in person, that meant the odds of it being something personal went up exponentially…right?

Unfortunately, with each minute that passes with no sign of him, the more she second-guesses herself, yet again. Who knows _what_ he wants to talk to her about? It could have absolutely nothing to do with their relationship. Hell, he might simply want to thank her for a pleasant semester auditing her class before they officially (maybe permanently) part ways. After all, there’s only one more class before the final that she assumes he isn’t going to take, since he’s auditing.

What it amounts to is that her heart is sinking as she begins to wonder if she’s being stood up. Maybe while he’s become the preoccupation of so many of her thoughts these past few months, she’s only ever been a passing thought to him…a peripheral part of his life that he hasn’t given much significance to. Maybe, to him, she’s only ever been his professor – which is what she _should_ have been, make no mistake about it – but the idea still inexplicably makes her eyes ache.

“Caitlin!” a voice calls from behind her, and she turns to find one of her best friends, journalism professor Iris West. “Good, you’re here early, let’s go in so we can get a seat.”

“I can’t,” she says, even as Iris grasps her wrist and pulls her along to the doors. She still has some small modicum of hope that Harry might appear. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“People are already going inside, you can talk to whoever it is in there,” Iris insists. “I want to get a good spot since I need to do a write-up of this for the university’s paper. Last time we got stuck up on the balcony, way in back, remember? We could barely hear what they were saying.”

“And here I thought that meant we’d found the best place in the room,” Caitlin mumbles, with one last look around, sighing in aggravation. _Forget it_ – she has better things to do than wait for someone who might not even show. As she lets Iris lead them into the building, she asks, in a much lighter tone, “Are you sure it’s about getting a good seat and not about wanting to sit near your _boyfriend_?”

“He – what – I…” Iris sputters. “That is not…stop making things up. Professor Allen is _not_ my boyfriend.”

“ _Professor Allen_ ,” Caitlin mimics. “You only ever call him that when you’re deflecting.”

“I call him that when I’m trying to be professional,” Iris tries to claim, but Caitlin sees right through her.

“Please, we’ve all been friends for years and I see how things have changed. You both like each other, why not just admit it and then see where it goes from there? You know, like adults do? Or _should_ do?” There’s a sharp note of frustration in Caitlin’s (supposedly rhetorical) questions, and that’s definitely a mistake since Iris focuses on it immediately.

“Who were you waiting for outside?” her friend asks, much too shrewdly.

Now Caitlin’s the one on the defensive. “It doesn’t matter because he didn’t show.”

“Does this have anything to do with the student you –”

“No, it does _not_ ,” Caitlin says, voice tight.

It seems like Iris is going to push the matter, but luckily for Caitlin that’s when her friend’s phone starts chiming and she takes it out to read the message.

“Looks like we don’t have to worry about finding a good spot, after all,” Iris informs her, smile bright enough that Caitlin knows who sent the text before the other woman confirms it. “Barry says they got some seats close to the stage – wait, I see them.” She points toward the front of the auditorium where Caitlin can see Cisco and Barry looking around, presumably for them.

The two men are on the end of the fifth row, and while the front of the room is filling up fast, they’ve managed to save two seats in the row directly in front of them.

“Reserved just for you, my ladies,” Cisco says, with a mock chivalrous bow, as he takes his shoulder bag from where he’d draped it across the seats.

“My hero,” Iris teases him, though she’s looking at Barry as she says it, and when the two of them smile at each other for too long, Caitlin sends Cisco a long-suffering look that has him laughing in response.

“I know you’re excited about another fun, mandatory staff meeting,” Cisco says lightly, directing his words mostly to Caitlin, aware of her hatred for these kinds of things.

“You know me so well,” she tells Cisco dryly, as she and Iris take the seats in front of their friends. Caitlin reflexively checks her phone, telling herself she isn’t disappointed when she sees no missed calls or texts from Harry. “I wish I’d chosen to teach a course on Wednesday evenings,” she sighs, since those are the only faculty members exempt from attending tonight.

“Blasphemy!” Barry announces brightly, causing both women to jump as they turn back to face him. “I had a class tonight and I canceled it so I could be here.”

“You’re crazy, man,” Cisco informs him. “I mean, borderline certifiable. You had a free excuse and threw it away when I’d have done anything to get out of this. Last time it was almost three hours before they let us leave! There’s no way they can go on that long tonight, right?”

Caitlin slumps down in her seat, staring morosely at the ceiling. “Don’t jinx us, Cisco.”

“I love hearing about all the behind the scenes stuff going on at the college,” Barry’s saying, and Caitlin twists around again to shoot him a look of disbelief – is he _eating popcorn_?

“This isn’t a movie theater,” Iris chides, as Barry picks up an enormous fountain drink – he must have stopped by the cafeteria before heading over. “There’s no food or drinks allowed in here.”

“I’m a rebel,” Barry proclaims, offering his drink to Iris, whose disapproving mask easily slides away when she laughs and takes a sip.

“You could have gotten me some,” Cisco’s complaining to their friend, as he steals some popcorn. “Hey, you think I have time to run to the cafeteria and get back before this starts?” He and Barry start debating the fastest time either of them could travel to the nearest cafeteria and back – Barry is loudly insisting no one would ever beat his record of three and a half minutes (he’d sprinted both ways).

Iris ignores their friends’ lighthearted debate and studies Caitlin for a few moments before asking, “You okay tonight?”

Caitlin knows that her friend has picked up on her unusually subdued demeanor, and normally she’d enjoy talking things out, but she’s simply not in the right frame of mind. “I’m fine. Just annoyed at having to spend my evening here instead of catching up on the work we have to get done before the semester’s officially over.” It’s only partly a lie, and she knows that on any other day, Iris would call her on it, but she’s hoping Iris gets too distracted by the men behind them.

“I have almost a hundred papers to correct tonight,” Iris sighs in agreement. And then (sure enough) she gets pulled into Barry and Cisco’s argument when they declare she has to make an ‘unbiased decision about who’s fastest based on the evidence and nothing more’. (The fact that there _is_ no evidence to speak of doesn’t seem to bother any of them.)

Caitlin’s happy for the reprieve; as much as she dislikes this part of her job, her current mood has almost nothing to do with the meeting due to start in about five minutes. She’s too busy berating herself for caring too much about Harrison Wells – for caring that the last few times they’ve tried to talk, they kept getting interrupted, or delayed, and then when she finally thought they’d have a chance tonight –

Her phone starts vibrating and she checks it, heart in her throat when she sees it’s a text from Harry: _I looked for you everywhere outside, but couldn’t find you. I’ve accepted a job at the university. I’m sorry I missed the chance to tell you in person_.

Her thoughts upon reading it are a swirl of emotions: relief that he won’t be disappearing from her life, excitement that they’ll get to see each other on a regular basis, and slight disappointment that the only thing he’d wanted to talk to her about was a job, and nothing personal.

(Well, that didn’t mean they couldn’t talk about anything personal in the _future_ , right?)

She’s about to write back that he doesn’t have to apologize to her for accepting a job, but the overhead lights flash, indicating things are about to start, so she sets her phone aside. If he’s going to be working here, he must be in the auditorium somewhere, and that must be why he’d even suggested talking before the meeting in the first place. Despite her hasty scans of the crowd behind her, though, she can’t spot him anywhere in the packed auditorium.

“Welcome, everyone,” Dean Ellis announces from up on stage, and the crowd quiets as he starts tediously going through the same topics they discuss at the end of every year. _Why_ is this necessary, again? She can barely focus, too busy thinking about how she has to find Harry and congratulate him (and maybe in her daydream, her version of ‘congratulating’ him is thoroughly kissing him, but that’s neither here nor there).

She’s working herself into a good bout of resentment over the mandatory requirements of her job, so she tries to distract herself by idly studying the various members of administration seated up on stage, behind the dean, waiting their turns to speak. That’s when someone familiar at the edge of the stage catches her attention – Harrison Wells. He’s standing near the back of the curtains with two women, one of whom she recognizes as the Head of Admissions. While the dean continues on about the ‘wild success’ of the program Barry and Cisco had taken part in that semester, Harry starts writing something on a piece of paper they give him.

She must say his name out loud without realizing it, since Iris elbows her in the arm. “Harry?” her friend repeats, taking only the briefest of seconds to understand the significance of that name. “ _The_ Harry that I’ve been hearing about for the entire semester?”

“It hasn’t been the… _entire_ semester,” Caitlin mumbles, carefully avoiding the other woman’s eyes so that Iris won’t be able to read her as easily as she otherwise would. Her friend is pretty much right, though Caitlin hadn’t realized she’d talked about him that much to the others. The amusing part is that Iris has never met Harry – for some reason, their paths have always narrowly missed each other. It’s even becoming a teasing point of fact between the two women, whereby Iris loves to insinuate that Harry might not be a real person.

“He’s at the back of the stage,” Caitlin tells her friend, then adds somewhat petulantly, “I told you he existed.”

For that, Iris nudges her arm again and then says, “Why would he be up on stage with the rest of administration?”

“He just texted me to say he’d accepted a job here,” Caitlin says, confusion growing by the moment. “I assumed he meant as a professor, but…”

“There are no other professors up on stage,” Iris points out, practically voicing Caitlin’s own thoughts. “There never are for these meetings…so it must be a different job.”

Their attention is momentarily diverted when Dean Ellis starts talking about how much he loves their university, how honored he’s been to work there all these years, and that he’s unfortunately decided to retire early for health reasons. After saying how much he’ll miss everyone, he tells them that his retirement will be in a few short weeks, at the end of the calendar year.

Then he explains that after carefully vetting replacements, the university is confident that they’ve found someone who will uphold the values and academic integrity that Star University has become known for.

Caitlin knows, by then, where this is going, but some part of her still freezes when Dean Ellis introduces the man who will be their new dean: Harrison Wells.

The first thing Harry does after taking the microphone is thank their current dean and ask for a round of applause, in appreciation for the 17 years the other man has given to their college.

Everyone around her starts clapping, giving their soon-to-be-former dean a standing ovation, and Caitlin numbly gets to her feet, feeling like she’s in some sort of dream. She can feel Iris’s eyes on her in question, and hears Cisco mumbling something about how _of course_ Harry’s their new dean, but she can’t say anything to either of them.

She’s mostly in that same fog for the rest of Harry’s speech, but she picks up on the key points: the interview process had taken months and he’d made it a stipulation that he be allowed to spend time at the university to determine if he thought he’d be a good fit there. He tells them that he probably looks familiar to most of the staff because he’d dropped in on various classes – not to secretly test or evaluate the professors, but to get a feel for the overall environment. He’d wanted to witness, firsthand, how students and faculty interacted with each other; wanted to sample a selection of courses being taught; and wanted to get to know the staff without the pressure of them knowing he might soon be their boss.

He then informs everyone that he’d been incredibly impressed with what he’d seen, and that based on that, when he was officially offered the position of dean, it had been easy to say yes.

He also apologizes to anyone who’s unhappy that he hadn’t been upfront about his identity from the beginning, and adds that if they have any issues with it, they’re welcome to speak to him privately on the matter. Up until that point, his eyes haven’t strayed to Caitlin even once, and she’s sure he hasn’t been able to find her in the crowd, but that’s when she’s proven wrong because the next thing he does is ask for their forgiveness – and specifically looks at her when he says it.

She can’t hold his gaze for very long, dropping her eyes as he moves on to other topics of university business – that part she ignores completely, too lost in her thoughts as she tries to sort through her feelings at this unexpected twist.

Mostly, she’s thrilled for him. She knows he’ll excel at this job and she has complete confidence in his ability to run SU. Hearing what he’d said about the interview process makes so many things from the past few months click into place. The man speaking to the crowd isn’t the same one she’d met back on that first day of class. That man had been guarded, unsure of what he’d find at this place and not entirely convinced he’d stay here. Today, he’s confident in his decision – more than that, he’s _embraced_ it.

However, no matter how certain she is that this will be great for their university in the long run, part of her can’t help feeling…hurt, for lack of a better word. She knows he hadn’t been able to say anything at first, and that later on he’d definitely tried to tell her on several occasions, but it still stings that she hadn’t heard it directly from him. (It’s crazy, because even if they’ve become friends, he still owes her nothing when it comes to things like this; he _never_ has.)

His new job also means that it _should_ put an end to any thoughts she’s ever had of potentially starting a relationship with him. The university doesn’t have strict rules against interpersonal relationships, but it’s certainly not encouraged, and especially not when employees are on a different level from one another.

And despite knowing that… _she still wants to._

It hadn’t mattered to her when they were professor and student, and it doesn’t matter to her now that they’re boss and employee. Because when she looks at him, she only sees _Harrison Wells_. It doesn’t matter if she’s teaching him in one of her classes or if his new job happens to mean the dynamic of their professional relationship has irrevocably shifted. By now, she knows who he is: what he believes in, what he stands for, the things he’s passionate about. She’s seen how much he cares for others – that he’ll drop everything if his daughter needs him, but will also happily give up an evening to help someone _else’s_ child.

She knows how she feels, and what she wants, but there’s still one major factor that she’s unsure of: what, if anything, he might feel for her. And even if he did care for her, what are the odds that he’d want to pursue it? The worst would be if he told her he _did_ have feelings for her, but they shouldn’t venture down that road – and he’d have every right to not want to start off a brand-new job by dating one of his subordinates.

She’s so mired in her state of speculative melancholy that Iris hissing, “Don’t you ever check your phone?” startles her, somewhat. “Third time I’ve asked,” Iris complains, careful to keep her voice low so as to not draw any attention to them.

Caitlin takes it out to see over a dozen texts from Iris, stretching back a solid ten minutes, and turns to her friend solely so she can roll her eyes in as exaggerated a manner as possible.

Iris snickers, ducking her head, and Barry loudly shushes them, which makes Iris laugh harder while a few people around them send disapproving glances.

Caitlin scans the list of texts to see that Iris has been spamming her with the exact same message, over and over: _You fell for our new dean?!_

Yes. Yes, she did.

 _No, I did not_ , she types back, hitting send with an irritated jab at the button.

Iris is holding her phone in her lap and grins when she sees it light up with the notification, which quickly turns to a frown after reading the message.

 _Liar_ , she instantly writes back, and Caitlin can’t directly respond to that without admitting it or lying more.

She decides to ask a question instead: _What am I going to do????_ She thinks those four question marks aren’t nearly enough, but hopefully they get her uncertainty across.

Iris taps on her leg for a few moments before composing a reply: _Talk to him_.

Caitlin sighs and flips her phone face down in silent indication she’s done talking right then, and Iris sends her a sympathetic glance that doesn’t make her feel any better.

She knows her friend is right. Nothing’s going to make her feel better other than talking to Harry. It’s not like she can avoid him – not like she _wants_ to, either. But she’s been so thrown by the revelation tonight that she feels like she needs some time to process that change before gearing up for a potentially serious discussion about their relationship, and wherever it might go.

As if sensing her thoughts about not wanting to avoid him, Harry starts talking about how he plans to spend as much time around campus as he does working behind the scenes on administrative issues. He doesn’t want to shut himself in his office and work independently of the faculty. He’s going to be hands on and they can expect to see him _everywhere_ , looking for ways to improve anything they tell him needs improving, or fix anything they tell him needs fixing. If it were literally anyone else standing up there, she’d have written off most of his promises as exaggerations in a feel-good pep talk. Because of who he is, though, she knows he means everything he’s saying.

And that only makes her love him all the more.

She presses a hand to her eyes, mentally kicking herself. She’s supposed to be cautious about this, preparing herself for the very real possibility that nothing might ever happen between them, and instead she’s thinking about how much she _loves_ him?

She’s so, _so_ far gone.

The other administrators start taking turns with various announcements about university business, and Caitlin knows a lot of it pertains to her job, but she doesn’t hear a single thing they say. (She’ll have to ask Iris for the highlights later.) It’s not until people around her are standing and heading for the exits that she realizes the staff meeting’s over.

“You should talk to him,” Iris urges again and Caitlin nods in agreement.

He’s up on stage talking to Dean Ellis and a few others. She should wait for an opening and get this over with. He might be her boss now, but he’s still her friend, still the same man she’s gotten to know this past semester. Nothing has changed in that regard and they’re going to need to talk, sooner or later.

She knows all that, but she still leaves, anyways.

**XXXXXX**

Caitlin deliberately plans to show up to their Thursday class a few minutes late. She’s not sure if Harry will end up skipping it, but she doesn’t want to risk having to talk to him beforehand, especially if they get stuck in a discussion that will be hard to drop when class itself is due to begin.

It’s the same reason she hadn’t reached out to him the previous night, either – his text to her about accepting a new job was the last communication between them. She tells herself it’s because it’s a conversation she wants to have in person, but part of her is definitely afraid – afraid that this might be it and that after today, she’ll be left knowing they’ll only ever be colleagues.

Putting off their talk hadn’t helped anything (did it ever?). She’d spent the previous night going over everything she wanted to say to him; she’d crafted a careful script in her mind of the questions she’d ask and how he might respond. (She knows it’s pointless, that it will never follow what she imagines, but the preparation makes her feel slightly better.)

She reminds herself to reign in her emotions as best she can – a rational conversation won’t be easy if she reveals how much she cares about him. Her feelings are not his responsibility, and the last thing she wants is for him to feel guilty (or worse, pity her) if he doesn’t feel the same. If they simply leave this semester as friends, he never has to know that she loves him. (She wonders how good she is at hiding it, though, since she feels like she’s giving it away every time she so much as glances in his direction.)

Her nervousness increases with each step she takes toward the lecture hall and for once it’s not from worry that things will go terribly – it’s from a much brighter, simpler emotion: hope. And not even hope that their talk will go well (although that’s definitely part of it), but just hope that he’ll _be there_ and hasn’t chosen to skip this last class. Aside from the meeting last night, she hasn’t seen him in over a week, and the mere fact of his absence has caused an unhappiness in her that’s been growing with each day he isn’t there.

The realization is like a slap in the face and she actually comes to a stop in the hallway, her feet refusing to move as she turns over this new information. She’s gotten used to him being there, has accepted he’s a part of her life – a _necessary_ part, even. And that’s incredibly dangerous because it’s making her wonder how she’s ever going to accept it if her fears from the day before come true. What is she supposed to do if he tells her it’s better, it’s safer (it’s _smarter_ )to stay friends?

She forces herself to start walking again, reaching the door to the lecture hall and bracing herself with a deep breath as she enters. Everyone’s already there, chatting happily amongst themselves, probably not even noticing that class should have started three minutes ago.

She searches for exactly one person in the crowd and he’s not hard to find; Harrison Wells is sitting in his usual spot in the center of the room, alongside Barry and Cisco. The three of them are laughing about something (and she has a brief moment to think that apparently they’re completely unbothered by Harry’s new position). And then Harry turns to look at her across the room, as if he’s sensed her arrival, and the shock of it has her freezing just inside the doorway.

In the span of a few seconds, almost too many emotions cross his face for her to register: there’s apology there, and concern, and hope that she understands. And mixed in with all of that, overshadowing everything else, is a depth of caring that she’s too afraid to call ‘love’. (Because if she does, and it isn’t, she has no idea how she’ll come back from that.)

She breaks their gaze and goes to the front of the room, turning on her mode of teaching that’s more or less autopilot. She reminds them that today is mostly preparation for the final next week, suggesting they get into groups to go over the material, and explains that she’ll be available for one-on-one help for the entire class.

Almost as soon as she’s done talking, a line of students appears and she spends the rest of the class helping them without any breaks. During that time, she studiously tries to avoid looking at Harry, but sometimes she can’t help it. Every time she risks scanning the room, he’s in a new place with a different group of students, and it hits her much too late what he’s doing – he’s been going from group to group, assisting whoever asks him for help, just like she’s been doing for the students who’ve been coming to her all class.

She feels an overwhelming surge of affection for him and knows that if she hadn’t loved him before, today would have definitely pushed her over the edge.

The class is over before she realizes it and she’s delayed afterwards while finishing up with a few students. When they finally leave, people are already filing in for the next class and Harry’s waiting for her by the doorway. She feels her nerves come back full force as she joins him and they start walking, automatically heading toward the building’s main entrance, since that’s the way they always walk when they leave together.

It strikes her with sudden clarity that they’ll never be making this particular walk again.

“Do you have a few minutes?” he asks, and she remembers she’s usually on her way to another class by this time.

“I canceled my next class,” she tells him. “They voted to use the time to prepare on their own, if needed. They’re all good students with consistent attendance, so I thought it was a fair request on their part.”

They’ve entered the building’s lobby, which doubles as a common area. There are couches and chairs everywhere, and skylights along the ceiling that let in plenty of light. It’s fairly crowded for this time of day and she knows a lot of professors have done what she has – canceled their last official classes in order to give students more time to finish up semester projects or prepare for finals however they choose.

Harry hasn’t said anything in response to telling him she canceled her class, and she’s beginning to wonder if he’s ever going to – that’s when he abruptly stops in the middle of the lobby, and she automatically does so, too. When she meets his eyes, she sees the same emotions flickering there that she had during class – the same as the night before when he’d watched her from the stage. (And some emotions have been there much longer than others; she swears some go back to the very beginning.)

“I looked for you last night,” he says. “Before _and_ after.”

“I…had to leave,” she says, because it’s not entirely a lie.

“I didn’t call or text you because I figured if you hadn’t stuck around, then…you might not want to talk to me.”

“That’s not it,” she says, wondering how he could think the exact opposite of how she felt. “That’s _never_ it. Not when it comes to you.”

He looks relieved to hear that and reaches out to lightly brush his fingers over the fabric of her sleeve. When she glances down, he pulls his hand away and says, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Caitlin.”

She could give him a hard time, get angry or upset or try to make him feel even worse than she knows he already does – she won’t deny that the thoughts had crossed her mind. In the end, though, she simply can’t do it; she doesn’t have a right, and besides that, any scenario of making him feel bad just to make _herself_ feel better is one she can never seriously entertain.

“You don’t have to apologize to me.”

It’s clear, from his expression, that he disagrees with her statement. “I tried to tell you so many times. I didn’t officially decide to accept until the end of last month, around Thanksgiving. I thought there’d be plenty of time to talk to you before Dean Ellis wanted to announce it, but…”

“This is the project you’d been working on the whole semester. The one you never wanted to talk about in specifics.”

“Yes.” He steps away, in a move she doesn’t like, and clasps his hands behind his back. “The short version of the story is that a decade ago, when I decided I didn’t want to work at research labs anymore, I did a lot of traveling. I ended up overseas, and with my background, it was easy to get jobs teaching at small colleges over there. Usually I was a visiting professor for a while and then I’d move on. I began to take on more responsibilities, gained a reputation for being able to help colleges work through various problems – low attendance, budgetary concerns – administrative issues, basically. After a few years, whenever I was hired at a school, it was to run it. I grew to love it, in a way I’d never loved any other job. And to answer your question from last week –”

“That’s what you found when you went looking for a different life,” she interrupts, because she can’t help herself. And his smile indicates that she’s more than right.

“I still had a few friends in Central City,” he continues, “one of whom works for SU. When Martin heard through the grapevine that the dean would be stepping down, he asked if I’d be interested in submitting my name for consideration.”

“Martin…Stein?” She slowly makes the connection. “Head of our physics department?”

“The same. I earned my doctorate under him, you know. Well,” he amends, smirking at her, “the physics one, that is.”

“That must have been a very difficult process.” She waits a beat. “For Dr. Stein.”

His smirk gives way to a genuine grin. “I was his favorite doctoral student.”

“He said that?”

Harry waves her off. “It’s the kind of thing that doesn’t need to be said.”

“Sure, Harry,” she says lightly, in a tone that indicates she might as well be rolling her eyes. “I’m curious about your decision to come back. Returning to the U.S., uprooting your entire life again after you’d been settled for such a long time…that’s quite the change.”

He’s nodding in agreement. “That’s partly why I was so hesitant in the beginning. That day we met? I wasn’t in a great mood because I was doubting myself for even coming back here. It felt like taking a step back in my life, to return to the city I’d _deliberately_ left in order to change my life. And honestly, I’d mostly agreed to come to SU as a favor to Martin – that and because I’d changed my life philosophy, remember?”

“Never automatically say no to anything without serious consideration,” she murmurs, remembering that particular conversation very well.

He’s smiling at her, obviously pleased she knows what he’s referring to. “Exactly. So I came back, but I was pretty sure I’d quickly decide that it wasn’t worth staying.”

“And you were wrong.” She glances around the lobby, just one room of thousands on this campus, all of them part of a university that he’d decided was worth changing his entire life for. Again.

“I was wrong,” he confirms. “In the beginning, I was skeptical about my chances of getting the job – if I even decided I wanted it – but they liked me right away when we began the process, especially my ties to the city from way back. That’s when I told them I wanted to see what it was like at SU – _really_ see what it was like. I’ve been around long enough to know that pre-arranged interviews and presentations wouldn’t show me what it was actually like here, especially not if the staff knew I might be the new head of the university.” His face has changed, and she can easily see the regret. “If you had any idea how many times I wanted to tell you, but wasn’t allowed. And then once I finally could, we kept getting interrupted. I began to second guess myself, began to worry that you might be upset I hadn’t told you from the very beginning. The longer I waited, the worse my imagined scenarios became. Not that I’m trying to use that as an excuse –”

“I understand,” she tells him, because she does. “It wasn’t something you ever had to tell me before the staff meeting.” She remembers the thought that had crossed her mind the night before. “You owed me nothing.”

“You’re wrong,” he says, and it’s harsh enough that she almost takes a step back. “If anything, I owed you _more_.”

“Harry…”

“Yours is the only class I actually took this semester.” He says that like it’s supposed to mean something to her, but she has no idea what.

“What are you talking about?” Another thought has her _actually_ taking a step back this time. “Did you seek me out on purpose? Have there been complaints about me? Or my classes?”

“No,” he says firmly, “you’ve gone down the wrong road, completely. I dropped in on lots of classes – it’s easy to get lost in lectures with hundreds of students – and I wasn’t lying at the staff meeting when I said I liked what I saw, almost across the board. The courses and professors here are as first-rate as I’d been told.”

“Then why did you enroll _only_ in mine?” she asks again. “Do you have a long-standing passion for debating medical ethics issues?”

“You know I love to argue,” he says, and when that makes her smile, he relaxes a little in response. “The first week, I was searching for a class I could enroll in to get a feeling for what it was like here over an entire semester. I wanted something I’d find interesting, and I did like the issues we were going to debate. That’s not _really_ it, though.”

“Then what _is_ it?” She’s beyond frustrated, wondering how many different ways he can dodge the same question.

“You,” he finally answers. “I took the class because of you.” Her confusion must show on her face, since he continues, “I liked what I saw in you as a professor. As a _person_. From that very first day. You love teaching, you love your students, and it shows. I could see it after spending less than two hours with you in our first class. I knew if I wanted to spend 15 weeks with _anyone_ I’d met at SU by that point, it was you.”

She can only stare at him, dimly registering the familiar buzz of students in the room around them; they’re talking, laughing, excited about the end of the semester and the vacation they’ll soon be enjoying. She and Harry probably should have found a more secluded place to have this conversation, but it’s too late now and she doesn’t think she could move if she wanted to.

He must take her silence as unhappiness with him. “You have every right to be upset,” he says. “So let me have it. Whatever you want to say. I promise I won’t hold it against you.”

“You mean since you’re my boss now?”

He grimaces slightly. “Yes, that.”

“I’m not angry at you,” she tells him. “I’m not going to start berating you or fly into a rage. Do I wish we’d been able to talk about this before? Yes. Am I going to hold it against you now? No.”

His relief is palpable. “I’m glad. You were the only person I worried about when it came to this. I never wanted to hurt you and I was afraid you’d feel like I…betrayed you.” He looks down at the floor, then back up at her. “I know I lied by omission, but if you’re amenable, I want us to start over with a clean slate, so to speak. And I’d never keep anything like this from you again.”

 _Start over?_ She can’t think of a worse suggestion. “I don’t want to start over,” she says, coldly. (She wants to stay right where they are.)

How is she going to be fine with seeing him around campus? How is she going to simply forget about every moment of connection they’ve shared? Every conversation and glance and smile – how is she supposed to move on from something when she never really _had_ it to lose in the first place?

“I just…I don’t want this to ruin whatever’s between us.” His hesitation indicates that he knows he misstepped somewhere in their conversation. “I still want to be your friend.”

“My friend.” That’s when the real hurt seeps into her, because she’s pretty sure what he’s saying. “You want to be my _friend_.”

“Yes. Always.” His voice has become tinged with confusion. “What is it? I feel like I’m doing something wrong, here.”

“Forget it,” she sighs, trying to follow her own advice. “I get what you’re trying to say, Harry. This can be…” she waves her hand toward the doors, “…where we part ways.” It’s the same thing he always tells her after class, once they get outside. It sounds a lot different now, though. Whenever he’s said it, it’s always been a temporary thing. A brief farewell before they see each other again. Her saying it now, though…there’s a permanence to it that’s making her feel sick.

“What are you talking about?” There’s an edge in his voice that she doesn’t understand. “Why are you acting like –” he gestures between them, “– there’s nothing here?”

Now she’s the confused one. “You _just_ told me you only want to be my friend. What am I supposed to do with that?”

His face clears as he comprehends what she’s saying. Or more importantly, _not_ saying. “I never said ‘only’,” he tells her, voice low.

She processes the implications of his answer, barely trusting herself to speak again. “What do you want, Harry?”

“Everything,” he says simply. “I want everything.” When she doesn’t speak, he continues, “Caitlin, I knew by the end of September that I wanted to move back to Central City. Permanently.”

The subject change jars her, at first – until she thinks about the timeline and how it doesn’t fit. “You didn’t accept this job until the end of November.”

He’s watching her, waiting for her to understand.

“You wanted to move back for me?” She’s not sure how he hears her, since she can barely hear herself.

“You were the first reason, yes. And then Jesse wanted to come back, too. And then I realized how much I missed it here, after so many years away. They say you can never go home again, but…” He takes a step closer to her. “They lie.”

“Me,” she’s saying, like repetition will make her believe it more. “I was the first reason.”

“And in the end, the biggest one.” He places a hand on her arm, and this time he leaves it there. “I told you that I want to stay your friend because it’s true. I never want that to change, but I’d like to be more than that, too. Over the past few months, I’ve come to care for you so much that…” He falters, looking somewhere beyond her before meeting her eyes again. “A life without you is not one I wish to contemplate.”

“It’s not?” She’s pretty sure her words sound as dazed as she feels and is well-aware that half of her responses now involve repeating his own words back to him.

“I know we’ve never discussed this –” for the first time, a bit of self-doubt slips into his tone, “– but I’m pretty sure you feel the same. That is…if I’m not wrong.”

She’s shaking her head before he even finishes the sentence. “You’re not wrong.”

He leans down to whisper in her ear, “I knew it – I’m _never_ wrong.”

She leans back slightly, with some notion of calling him on his arrogance, but the only thing she does is turn her head and kiss him. She knows it catches him off-guard from how his breath hitches on his next inhale. Then he’s kissing her back and she can feel everything in it that he’s been telling her – the tenderness, the affection, the hint of desperation from when he’d thought he might have missed his chance after she learned the truth – there’s a promise in the kiss that takes her breath away.

When she finally pulls away and makes an attempt to gather herself, she knows she has to tell him: “I love you.”

He stares at her in mild shock and she prays she hasn’t made a terrible mistake. That she hasn’t overplayed her hand and said something that, while true, might make him think she’s in too deep, too soon –

“How many rules am I breaking if I tell you I love you, too?”

She abruptly laughs, almost giddy with the wave of relief that crashes over her. “I don’t know. I never read the employee handbook, remember?”

He laughs then, as well. “If there _is_ anything to that effect, I’ll just cross it out. I can do that now.” He punctuates his statement with another kiss. It lingers for a moment until he stops it, though only to profess: “I love you, Dr. Caitlin Snow.”

“As much as I’d enjoy hearing that many more times, we shouldn’t be doing this here,” she tells him quietly, as he looks around the room. Most people are too wrapped up in themselves to notice the two of them, but there are definitely a handful of students shooting them curious looks.

“Most students don’t know who I am yet,” Harry points out. “Which means they must be curious about you.”

“The faculty members know who you are,” she counters.

“Yes, they do,” he says, taking her hands in what she suspects is a move to indicate that he doesn’t care.

It’s like the universe hears them, since Cisco and Barry choose that exact moment to wander through the lobby and come to a stop – right next to her and Harry.

“About time, you two,” Cisco admonishes, winking at them in exaggeration. “If you only knew what we had to deal with! Months of you two _looking_ at each other –”

“This is a scandal, right?” Barry interrupts, taking out his phone. “I’m going to need a picture to document for the school paper. This is the kind of scoop Iris loves to get and she’ll definitely owe me when I –”

Harry pushes Barry’s hand away, almost causing him to drop his phone. “Keep. Walking.”

“Is that an order?” Cisco asks. “Because, I mean, it could be. But then again, you’re not technically our boss yet. Are you trying to test it out? See how it feels to –”

“Go,” Harry says, and that time it most definitely _is_ an order, and the other two know it. And while the younger men (slowly) walk toward the main entrance, they keep sending curious looks (and various congratulatory hand gestures – thumbs up from Cisco and, oh God, an actual heart from Barry) back at her and Harry.

“This is my life now, isn’t it?” Harry asks, and she can tell he’s going for annoyed, but there’s a definite fondness in his tone that’s unmistakable.

“Hey, you chose it. You could have stayed in Europe.”

“Tuscany, to be precise.”

“You are _crazy_ to have given that up for this place,” she teases. “For us. All of us.”

“No, I don’t think so,” he argues lightly.

“If you two could take a step back under that skylight so the sunlight hits you at a better angle?” Barry calls, and they glance over to find he’s fumbling with his camera again. “I’ll agree not to publish pictures for a small extortion fee. But I still need proof for Iris.”

“You!” Harry snaps, pointing at Barry. “Don’t make me fire you.”

Caitlin groans and presses her forehead to his chest. “That is not the kind of joke you should be making, Harrison.”

“Who said it was a joke?” he asks, as she glances up at him. He’s kept his face perfectly blank, but the smile in his eyes gives him away.

“This is workplace harassment!” Barry protests indignantly, and by now they’ve definitely made enough of a scene that people are staring.

Cisco then informs Barry that the argument could be made that taking unwanted photos of people is the true harassment, and the two of them finally end up leaving the building, bickering the whole way.

“You’re right,” Harry tells her. “I _am_ crazy to want to work here. There’s no other explanation.”

“The good news is that you’ll fit right in,” she says, cheerfully.

“Maybe it’s not too late to renege on the job,” he jokes, then his expression sobers. “This doesn’t bother you? That we’re technically boss and employee?”

“What if it did?” she asks, thoughtfully.

He pretends to think about that. “You could always quit.”

She laughs at his ‘solution’. “See, that’s how I know we’ll be fine. And in all seriousness, Harry, if it doesn’t bother you, then it doesn’t bother me. I know neither of us will let it interfere in our personal life.” Her eyes alight with what she says next: “However, there’s still the small matter that I shouldn’t date my students.”

“We only have a few days until the semester’s over, but I’ll unenroll if it makes you feel better.”

She tugs on the sleeve of his shirt. “I liked having you in my class.”

“I liked _being_ in your class,” he replies. “It might be my favorite class that I’ve ever taken.”

“Why?” she teases, expecting some light hearted, over-the-top praise or flattery.

His eyes darken, voice turning intense: “Because I fell in love during it.”

She inhales sharply, her own humor evaporating as she meets his eyes. She doesn’t care if anyone in the lobby’s still watching, doesn’t care what anyone might think of them. In that moment, all she can see is the future laid out before them: she sees working alongside him for years; she sees marrying him; she sees having children with him. She sees laughter and joy and good times, and sadness and grief and hard times. In that brief flash, lasting no more than a few seconds, she sees everything. She sees a _life_.

And the only person she wants any of that with…is him.

“What is it?” he asks, having seen her momentary lapse into her own thoughts.

“I saw…” She lets the words fade, not sure how to answer his question. Where would she even _begin_? (And is she crazy for even imagining it when they’ve been ‘together’ for all of ten minutes?)

She leans up to kiss him and he easily kisses her back, like he knows it’s something she needs for reassurance. It’s all the confirmation she needs to realize that she could definitely do this for the rest of her life. When she pulls away, she can still see the question lingering in his eyes, accompanied by a slight worry.

“It’s…forever,” she says, in a belated answer. “I saw forever.”

The smile he sends her in return is brilliant, and she finds herself thinking again about how this had started: with a lecture, in this very building, three and a half months earlier.

She doesn’t think she’d have believed it if someone had told her she’d have a future with the student she met that first day. That a few months later, they’d not only be working together, but he’d be her boss. And that none of it mattered, in the long run, because what they felt for each other went beyond labels or guidelines or what anyone else might think.

“Forever’s a really long time, Caitlin Snow,” he’s telling her, like it’s something she might be unaware of.

“Too long?” she challenges.

“Let me think on it,” he offers, and she gives him a playful push backwards that has him dropping the facade and grabbing her hand to pull her up against him. “It’s not too long,” he promises.

“Good,” she says, relaxing slightly. “I wanted to make sure we were on the same page when it comes to the future.” She tilts her head. “When it comes to us.”

“I think we can make it.” He wraps his arms around her, as heedless of any bystanders as she’s been. “Forever, that is.”

“I think we can, too,” she agrees, tipping her head back to smile up at him. “Forever it is, then.”

(And it takes decades to prove it, but in the end, they’re both right.)


End file.
